


Fortune Cookie Wisdom

by TheBreakfastGenie



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Christmas, Friendship, Gen, Jewish Character, Post-Episode: s02e10 Noel, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rosslyn, jewish christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 15:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17144366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBreakfastGenie/pseuds/TheBreakfastGenie
Summary: Post-Noel, Toby decides to get Josh out of the house for a Jewish Christmas. Alternate title: Scenes From A Chinese Restaurant





	Fortune Cookie Wisdom

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching Noel for the hundredth time and I started thinking that someone would want to check on him the following day, and who better than Toby, who doesn't really have anything else to do on Christmas? I love Josh and Toby's relationship and feel it's sadly underrepresented in fanfiction. This was the result! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing most of it! Comments are deeply appreciated. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Toby curled his fingers into a fist and knocked, the soft leather of his glove cushioning his knuckles from the hard wood of the door. He wondered if he needed to be concerned. He wished he had a key. He knocked again. He listened for footsteps, for any kind of response, but heard only silence. Silence and the radiator clunking along in the hallway. Toby continued knocking, until the door flew open with a cry of

“Alright, already!”

Standing in the doorway was Josh Lyman, wearing what appeared to be a two-piece blue flannel tent, alive and unharmed. Relatively unharmed. 

“Hey,” Toby said. Josh gaped at him. 

“It’s seven-thirty in the morning.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” Josh said. 

“Then who gives a damn?” Toby pushed past Josh into the apartment. 

“What the hell are you—”

“It’s _freezing_ in here,” Toby half-shouted, startled by the sudden draft. “I’m wearing a coat and I’m shivering. How do you sleep in here?”

“It’s warmer in the bedroom,” Josh explained. “I close the door, keeps the heat in.” 

“Let me see your thermostat,” Toby insisted, searching the living room for the display. 

“Toby—” Josh began, but Toby held up a hand in a _stop_ gesture. 

“Josh,” he said slowly, “what in God’s name is _that_?”

Toby was pointing at the window, which had been covered by a large flannel sheet from which printed Santa Claus faces stared out at them. The sheet was bordered by fake department store holly, the artificial red of the berries looking too cheerful against the depressing green foliage. 

“Donna put it up last night,” Josh answered, not looking remotely perturbed by the explosion of Christianity in his living room, “after we got back from the emergency room. The sheet’s supposed to keep the draft out, or something. The other stuff is just there to… hide the damage.”

Toby examined the window more closely, and realized that, instead of solid glass, the Santa monstrosity covered another sheet of clear plastic. He glanced from the window to Josh’s hand. 

“Is that how you..?”

“Yeah,” Josh looked at the floor. “It wasn’t a glass.” 

Toby took another look. The haphazard foot of gauze that had wrapped it the last time he’d seen Josh had disappeared, replaced by a neater, more professional bandage. 

“You got that checked out?”

“At the ER. Leo made me. It’s not too bad. They just, rewrapped it, showed me how to change the dressing at home. Gave me some kind of antibiotic ointment, just in case.” Toby remembered the blood that had been seeping through Josh’s homemade bandage. 

“Does it hurt?”

Josh shrugged. 

“Not really. But my pain tolerance is kind of skewed these days.” 

Toby made a soft sound of acknowledgment. 

“Donna’s in Wisconsin?” he asked. 

“She caught a redeye to Madison,” Josh reported. “She missed midnight mass, but she’s pretty sure her parents will forgive her. I told her I’d fire her if she didn’t get on the plane.”

“And she believed you?” Toby asked skeptically. 

“Leo backed me up,” Josh admitted. 

Toby took a moment to really look Josh over. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t Josh looking relatively normal. If he looked closely enough Toby could see the wear around his eyes, the tension in his jaw. But still, aside from the ridiculous sleepwear, he looked basically like himself. 

“Why do you still have those?” Toby asked, indicating the pajamas. “They don’t fit.”

“I thought getting rid of them might hurt CJ’s feelings. Besides, they’re…” Josh looked away from Toby. “…warm.” 

Toby grunted, indicating he would revisit the topic later. In the meantime, he had plans. 

“Get dressed,” he told Josh. “We’re going to the movies.” 

Josh stared at him. 

“Well?” Toby said. “Go on. We’re already missing the first showing.”

“You’re serious?” Josh asked. 

“It’s December 25th. You’re still Jewish, aren’t you? Unless that monstrosity over there—”

Josh help up his hands in surrender. 

“Okay, okay. I’m going.” He turned and walked into the bedroom. 

“Be ready in ten minutes,” Toby called after him. 

 

—-

 

Josh squinted at the marquee as Toby hurried him into the theater. He didn’t see what the big rush was, the lobby was predictably deserted. Toby took his wallet out of his coat pocket. 

“What are we seeing?” Josh asked. 

“You have breakfast?” Toby asked instead of answering. 

“No,” Josh said. 

Toby pulled a wad of bills out of his wallet and waved them a Josh. 

“Go buy some popcorn. I’ll get the tickets.” Josh gaped at him. 

“What are you, my divorced dad who’s taking me to the carnival?”

“Get me a coke,” Toby said by way of explanation, “ and a thing of Junior Mints.” 

Josh shook his head to indicate disbelief and disapproval, but he took the money and stalked over to the concessions counter. He paid for two small popcorns, two small cokes, Toby’s Junior Mints, and a box of Malteasers with Toby’s money. While the kid behind the counter scooped the popcorn into paper buckets, Josh turned away to watch Toby puzzling over the listings. He knew what Toby was doing. He wanted to yell at him, tell him to knock it off, or thank him. 

—-

 

Toby stared at the list of movies and showtimes, trying to guess at content from titles and two-line synopses, trying to predict what might contain gun violence or any other subject matter it would be pertinent to avoid. Defeated, Toby bought two tickets to the only G-rated movie in the cineplex. 

He met Josh in the middle of the lobby, toting an unstable quantity of theater snacks. 

“Malteasers?” Toby asked, taking his own share of the food from Josh’s precarious grip. 

“I was gonna get the Red Vines but these seemed more breakfast-y,” Josh explained. “Where are we going?”

“Number three on your left,” Toby said, pointing him the right direction. 

Toby let Josh choose seats in the back of the theater. That was fine with him, Toby had always been a back row kind of guy. 

“You didn’t have to give me so much money,” Josh said after a moment. “That was way more than your snacks cost.”

“You can pay me back if it makes you feel better,” Toby answered, keeping his eyes on his popcorn. 

“I don’t feel that bad,” Josh laughed. “I’m just saying, you don’t need to give me money. I’m not getting fired.”

Toby mentally let out a breath he hadn’t quite realized he was holding. The truth was he hadn’t allowed himself to consider the possible professional ramifications of Josh’s situation, and it was a relief to know he wouldn’t have to. 

“You can buy lunch then,” Toby said. 

“Hey, you’re the one that wanted to go out today,” Josh complained. The lights in the auditorium began to dim. “Shh,” he said. “The previews are starting.” 

Toby didn’t bother with the previews, he never had time to go to the movies anyway, except on Christmas. Instead, he watched Josh, and then curly white script announced the feature presentation. The story opened on a rich kid in a foreign country and Toby was already bored. Josh watched the movie, and Toby continued to watch Josh. He was quiet, despite the empty theater, and seemed oddly engrossed in the storyline, until Toby realized Josh was paying no attention to the movie and was covering for wherever his mind really was. He searched Josh’s body language for excessive tension, for jumpiness, but he couldn’t tell if he was seeing it now because it was there or because he expected to. 

Ninety minutes passed faster than Toby expected, and soon the credits were rolling against the audio backdrop of some inane pop song he had never heard. Josh began to stir in the seat next to him. Toby’s covert glance earned him a brief view of Josh fiddling with the clean bandage on his right hand. 

“Hey,” Josh said, startling Toby slightly, “can we go? I don’t really need to see the credits.” 

“Sure,” Toby said, grabbing his coat. 

Something about the credits had made Josh nervous. Or maybe it was his imagination. 

 

—-

 

The neon sign outside the Emperor’s Palace restaurant winked in and out with an electronic buzz in the midday December sun. The whine was starting to give him a headache and the flashing light… Josh contemplated asking the host to move them to another table, but settled for pulling the bamboo mini-blinds closed, blocking the lights from his view and muffling the noise. 

He glanced across the table at Toby, who was staring into a cup of tea. All they had done so far was drink tea, because there wasn’t much else to do at a Chinese restaurant at ten-thirty in the morning. Besides the two of them the place was devoid of customers, and Toby had offered both the host and the waiter a ‘preemptive tip’—a bribe—allowing them to stay as long as they wanted. 

“What did you think of the movie?” Josh asked, taking an awkward stab at conversation. Toby looked up from his teacup. 

“It’s about a guy who gets turned into a llama.” 

Josh shrugged. 

“I thought it was funny. Anyway, you picked it.”

The last part came out sounding more like an accusation than Josh intended. He knew perfectly well what Toby’s reasoning had been for choosing a kids’ movie. He didn’t know was whether what he was feeling about it was resentment or gratitude. He cleared his throat. 

“Sorry I rushed us out of there,” he began. Now it was his turn to stare into his teacup. “It was, uh.” He cleared his throat again. “It was the music.”

“Good thing I didn’t pick a musical, then,” Toby said weakly. Josh appreciated any attempt to lighten the mood, even a failed one. 

“Stanley—the guy from ATVA—he said music can be… sometimes when I hear it, I hear something else. Sirens. Like with your bagpipes.” 

Josh watched realization dawn on Toby’s face and immediately felt uncomfortable. He picked up a menu.

“Are you ready to order? That popcorn wasn’t very filling.”

“Josh.”

“Toby…” he warned.

“No, Josh, listen. I’m sorry.”

“Stop it.”

“It was a stupid idea to put musicians in the lobby. I was making a point and it was stupid.”

Josh put down the menu and looked at his friend.

“It wasn’t stupid,” he said softly. 

“It—”

“It wasn’t stupid. People were calling you names for not showing enthusiasm for a holiday you don’t celebrate. _That’s_ stupid. Hiring bagpipes and banjos and… brass quintets to tell them where to stick it, that’s genius.”

Toby was quiet. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of that last week,” Josh said, lowering his voice again. “I was a little,” he gestured at his temple with his bandaged hand, “distracted.”   
“Did he help?” Toby asked. “The shrink from ATVA. Was he any good?”

“He was good,” Josh said. “Too good for me, apparently. I have to follow up with someone else.” He made a face as he said it. But he had a backup plan. Donna had extracted Stanley’s personal cellphone number. He wasn’t getting away that easily. 

“But you’re following up?”

“Yeah, it looks like I’m gonna need plenty of therapy. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and all.” It was the first time either of them had named his diagnosis.

“And you’re not fired.”

“No,” Josh said firmly, not offering any more than that. “Can we at least get some potstickers?” he asked after a moment. “I really am starving.”

“Vegetarian,” Toby conceded. Josh knit his eyebrows together. 

“Since when do you eat vegetables?”

“They both have vegetables, Josh. They're fried, it doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, but the other ones also have other stuff,” Josh complained. 

“Like pork,” Toby said pointedly. Josh could feel his eyes bug out. 

“Toby I’ve seen you eat about three dozen club sandwiches on Air Force One. You do know those have bacon, right?”

“Jewish Christmas is a sacred tradition and I’m going to respect it and so are you.”

“Fine,” Josh said, rolling his eyes. “Just don’t forget to ask for extra soy sauce.”

 

—-

 

“You should take the leftovers home.” Toby nudged the containers of beef lo mein and GeneralTso’s chicken toward Josh’s side of the table. 

“Why don’t you take some? Half of it was yours.”

“Because I’ve seen the inside of your refrigerator and I know for a fact there is very little passing for ‘food’ in it.” 

“When you were you looking in my fridge?” Josh complained. 

“While you were getting dressed.”

“I feel violated,” Josh muttered, but he pulled the takeout containers towards him, indicating acceptance. 

“You like fortune cookies?” Josh asked, pointing to the pile of them at the center of the table. 

“I think they have the exact flavor of orange-scented cardboard,” Toby deadpanned. 

“Yeah, but you have to to eat it to read your fortune. Otherwise it’s bad luck or something.”

“One cookie,” Toby said, ending the negotiations before they began. 

“One cookie,” Josh agreed. 

As Josh became occupied with sifting through the sizable pile of individually-wrapped cookies, Toby grabbed the one nearest to him and placed it next to his teacup. He stared at his hands. He swallowed hard. 

“The shrink, the ATVA guy—Stanley Keyworth. He talked to me, too.”

Toby didn’t lift his head, but he strained his eyes far enough upwards to see Josh freeze; his hand was on a fortune cookie, his gaze fixed on Toby. 

“Yeah, I know,” Josh said calmly. “He talked to all of you. He told me.”

“I had to tell him about…”Toby paused. He waited for Josh to say something, do anything, but Josh seemed frozen. “It made me realize,” he continued, then stopped again. 

“If I call you and you don’t— sometimes I come around a corner…” Toby trailed off. “I just wanted to—” he tried again. He took a deep breath. 

“I’m am very glad that you’re alive.”

“Me too.”

Josh’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. 

“You are?” Toby asked hesitantly. 

“Yeah,” Josh said, as if amazed by the words coming out of his own mouth. “I am.”

“Good,” Toby said with finality. “Ready to open your fortune cookie?”

“ _Serious trouble will bypass you_ ,” Josh laughed derisively. “Little late for that, I think.” 

“ _People are naturally attracted to you,_ ” Toby read. 

“Hey,” Josh complained. “I think you mixed those up. That one was supposed to be mine.” Toby smirked. 

“I shouldn’t have been so dismissive of fortune cookies,” he said seriously. “They contain a great deal of wisdom.” 

“Shut up, Confucius,” Josh said, masking amusement with annoyance. Toby laughed. 

“Let’s go,” he said. “We’ve been here long enough.” He threw the remaining cash in his wallet onto the table and indicated for Josh to do the same. “Don’t forget the tip.”

“I thought you already gave them a tip.”

“That was a bribe. They still need their regular tip, or it defeats the point of the bribe.” Josh shook his head, pulling out his wallet. “Come on, I got the check, make your contribution.”

Josh left a twenty on the table. 

“Happy now?”

“Never,” Toby said cheerfully. 

The icicles on the awning shivered as Toby push on the door. He held it open for Josh to walk through.

“Let’s go home.”

 

—-

 

“You want a drink or something?” Josh opened his front closet, grabbing an empty coat-hanger. 

“I swear to god it is even colder in here than it was this morning.” 

“It’s ‘cause the sun’s down. Do you want a drink or something?” Josh shrugged out of his coat. He shoved the hanger roughly into the sleeves. 

“What do you have?”

“I have some scotch left and I think there’s a couple bottles of beer around here somewhere.” He hung his coat in the closet. He watched Toby, who made no move to do the same. “Toby, it’s not that cold.”

“They’re just leaving you with a plastic sheet over your window?”

“My super’s working on it. He couldn’t get anyone in ’til after Christmas. He’s trying for before New Year’s.”

“There isn’t a Jewish glazier somewhere in the Metro area?” Toby gestured broadly with one arm. “Or a Sikh?”

“I’m sure there is, but Christmas is still a federal holiday. It’s not a big deal.” Josh lifted one shoulder. “Besides, the more he rushes this, the more I’m gonna end up paying. I can already kiss my deposit goodbye. Renters’ insurance doesn’t exactly cover losing your mind.”

The joke dangled silently between them, like the white plastic bag of leftovers forgotten in Toby’s hand. Josh recognized this frozen discomfort. It had been the same after Rosslyn. 

“Did you want that drink?” he asked to break the silence.

“Maybe another time. After you get your window fixed.” 

“You know, you’d be able to tolerate the cold better if you were from New England,” Josh said.

“You’re sure you can sleep here?” Toby asked, ignoring the bait. 

Josh smiled. 

“Donna put a space heater in my bedroom. I’ll be fine.”

Toby lifted his hand slight, indicating he had remembered he was holding the leftover food. 

“These are yours.”

Josh met Toby’s eyes as he accepted the bag.

“Thank you,” he said. 

“See you tomorrow,” Toby replied. He adjusted the collar on his coat as he turned away. 

Josh watched the door close behind Toby, then went to put the leftovers in the fridge. 

“Tomorrow,” he whispered to himself. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's exactly the movie you think it is. I looked up a list of movies that were in theaters in December of 2000 and someone brilliantly suggested this one.


End file.
